


How do you know if a Sniper loves you?

by shurb



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Curses, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shurb/pseuds/shurb
Summary: Merasmus is angry at his old roommate, and decides to curse him. A curse that is supposed to make his life a living hell. Unfortunately his aim was a little off, and someone else got cursed instead.
Relationships: Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	1. The curse

Sniper was sitting in his van, unbelievably not currently getting ready for the next battles. Because there wouldn’t be any today. It was Halloween or something. A holiday he wasn’t too fond of. It was a waste of time and money if one even went as far as buying candy. Not that that would be necessary here, out in the bloody desert. No one came here, for good reason, besides the fact that all the land was owned by someone who apparently wasn’t keen on doing anything with their property; except having them there to kill the other mercenaries.

Of course they might actually get caught up with the storm of kids later in the day though. Because they would go to some rented little house and celebrate their rare day off there.  
Sniper didn’t understand in the slightest, how they could just leave the base for some BLU spy to invade and possibly steal their intelligence.  
Of course someone would stay behind. But that being Demoman was not the most comforting solution. At least Engineer and Pyro had offered to stay behind as well, also with the Medic. Sniper had enough confidence in them to defend the building and whatever was contained in the case.

He would have stayed behind as well, not fond of social gatherings in the slightest, but after the insistence of Medic to actually go - plus some more “convincing” in the form of his saw flailing before his face - he decided to go with the rest of the team after all. Medic probably thought he didn’t notice how he and Spy were ganging up on him, making sure he ate enough and would go to bed earlier than he did now.  
But what could he say? He enjoyed his 3 AM coffee breaks too much, especially when they were in peace and quiet in the canteen, away from the usual noise that always went around somewhere in the base. Either due to Scout blasting music on a record player, or Demo’s occasional drinking parties with Soldier. As much as the American was all “disciplined” - as he called it - as much was he also able to unwind at the end of a day to drink beer.

It was nearly 7 o’clock in the morning, which meant that breakfast would start soon. Sniper didn’t have much motivation to join in now though. He usually appeared in the canteen or kitchen whenever he felt like it. And when he could help it, which was mostly the case, he would either skip breakfast to avoid the others and do something more exciting like reading a book, or he would join when they were nearly done.

Today he was busy though. The fridge in his van might not have been too big, but it had enough space to store a couple steaks along with his own food. The steaks weren’t for him. Hence the explanation as to why he was busy this morning: He would feed the coyotes that occasionally visited him outside the base. There were most often just two of them, rarely a third one. It had taken a few months to figure out when they came around. About every two weeks at the same time, one female and male coyote would trot over to him slowly, still wary of him. But every time he showed up with another couple fresh slices of meat for them, he could see that the wariness was slowly replaced with trust. They would let him sit there with them the last time, not too worried anymore that he would take their meal from under their noses.

With the pleasant memory in mind, of just being in company that didn’t involve any social interaction bound to societal standards, he got off his bed in the front of his van by climbing down the short ladder and crouched before the small fridge, pulling out the food for his big, hungry friends.  
He put them in a paper bag to hide the meat away from curious eyes, like Scout’s, and put that in his leather bag which looked less suspicious. He could have a smoke later. Sitting there was nice and all, but he needed to occupy his hands. And a cigarette filled the empty space between his fingers just perfectly.

If he only knew where he had put them. Sniper looked around the small space of his van, checking the small table, the bench behind it, looked in the little bedroom area. But the packet of cigs was nowhere to be found, not on or under the bed, not in the makeshift dresser that he had built in a while ago.  
“Bloody-,” he was getting impatient, when he looked up at the lamp over the kitchen, seeing the little packet standing oh-so innocently over the window, on a little platform where the curtains were installed. “How the hell…?” There was no use asking himself why he had put them there. He knew he could get lost in thought, and put objects around his van where they didn’t belong. The cigarettes were put into his back pocket along with the lighter, which he was at least smart enough to put inside the little paper box once he had emptied the contents enough. If he lost that thing he wouldn’t be able to find it again, and it could be standing right before him on the tabletop. His keys hung on the wall next to his vest and hat, latter which he out on before getting out his private little home and locking the door behind himself.

—

He had made his way through the base to get outside-outside, luckily with no encounter with any of his teammates. There was an area “outside”, which was technically still inside their base-territory. But once leaving the base, and going a good few yards further, he would be at the meeting spot with his furry friends.  
He could see the two already, playing in the dusty sand and whirling up dirt clouds. But they stopped their shenanigans once seeing the familiar hat of his. Or maybe they recognised him by some smell? Who cared, as long as they didn’t see him as their next meal. Sniper didn’t care to figure out the biology behind this, he was just happy to feed them and see them surviving out here.

They watched him carefully, the female coyote even growled when he stepped too close, which was why the man stopped instantly and stood there for a few seconds, showing his hands to let them know he did not possess any weapons to hurt them with. The male coyote sat down on the ground, tail moving slowly behind him.  
Sniper knelt down and unhurriedly opened the leather bag he let hang off his shoulder. Their ears perked up a little at the sound of the crinkling paper inside, and the more trusty animal of the two trotted over to him, standing 5 feet from him.  
Mundy smiled to himself while extending his hand which held the steak. He thought about naming the two, but he knew that this would form a bond on his side which he wasn’t sure was smart to have. But humans were faulty, so the thought had crept up a few times already. “C’mon, little buddy. Ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He wouldn’t force the coyote to eat from his hand, but it was worth a try. And indeed, the coyote first stepped away, before stepping closer again, claws scraping over the gravelly ground. Then he opened his maw, sinking his teeth into the free meal and pulling away hurriedly and returning to his spot next to his partner. Or maybe the female coyote was his sister? Sniper didn’t know, and he couldn’t really ask the animals either.  
Sniper pulled out the second steak and offered it to the other coyote in the same fashion, but she obviously was less easier to satisfy and just kept standing there, even eyeing her friend’s meal. So the man threw the steak towards them, making sure it wasn’t too close, nor too far; he didn’t need them to run off scared. Just like she always did, she inched closer, and finally went to eat her breakfast, too.

Sniper sat down on the rough ground, pulling out a cigarette and his lighter, before lighting it and drawing in a deep breath. He was well aware that smoking didn’t make him eat more. It took the hunger and the appetite he had. But Sniper didn’t care, because he was both alive and still walking. So his smoking habit couldn’t be too bad.

The sun was already over the horizon, but it was still not high yet, thus casting long and dark shadows on the nearly orange-coloured ground. It was nice to just spend some time around others who didn’t constantly need his attention. He could smoke in peace, feel how every breath in was accompanied by something thick and still not there. It was satisfying to watch the grey puffs of air and whatever stuff was contained in the cigarettes to dissolve above him, just like the tension in his muscles that was always there left him after his first stick of the day. Scout, Medic and Soldier would be breathing down his neck now, telling him that doing this was bad, that he was destroying his lungs and health. But what were a few years less on this planet? What were a few years more without him here?

… His parents would miss him. If they were going to outlive him, of course. But they would die one day, and leave him here alone. Not to say that Mundy didn’t get along with his team. They were all okay with each other most of the time, hence the constant nagging about his habits; they were worried. But he knew of himself that despite the team they were, they weren’t friends. It had been like that with every of his acquaintances his whole life, like there was a distance between himself and others that no amount of time spent with them could change. What a surprise that was with the profession he had.

—

The coyotes had walked off after finishing their meal and letting Sniper just sit there with them for a few minutes more.

Breakfast was spent with a cup of coffee in hand and his body relaxing on the sofa in the common room. The TV was on and ran some show that he couldn’t pay enough attention to, but Demo seemed to enjoy it, so he didn’t change channels. What interesting could be on there?

Just sitting there reminded him of what had happened yesterday in this very room, with the same person sitting casually next to him.

_“So, ye gonna join the other’s later for the Halloween party?” the other asked just as Sniper had finished his coffee and was planning on actually returning to his van. But he kept sitting there on the soft cushions, staring at the black-and-white TV screen.  
“No’ really.”  
“What?! Why? It’s gonna be great fun, man!” Sniper looked over, seeing that Demo was looking at him, too.  
“It’s jus’ nothin’ fo’ me.”  
“Aw, c’mon, lad! Ye need ta relax once in a while.” With that he took a swig from his bottle._

_Sniper really wasn’t up for this kind of event._

_“I’ll decide later.”  
“Oh no, you von’t!”_

_The two men turned around to see Medic standing in the doorway.  
“An’ why that?” Sniper questioned, raising an eyebrow to reinforce the visible confusion that was already on his face.  
“Because ve have to do our job, even vizh the festivities tonight! Ve cannot leave zhe intelligence unguarded.”  
“Which’s exactly why I’ll stay-“ he wanted to make his stance clear that he was going to stay, and not drive out to some house at the edge of town to “party” - as they all might call it. But he was interrupted. “No! Zhat von’t do. Demoman, Engineer, Pyro and me are already staying here. It vould be a great opportunity for you to relax a little.”_

_Now, Sniper wasn’t a person to get angry easily. But he also was not a push-over. Meaning, that he wasn’t going to just take what Medic was ordering him to do, and run with it.  
“No way, Doc. I will no’ go.” He turned bac_k _to the TV, regarding the conversation as over.  
Demo got off the sofa and walked out of the room. Instead, Medic took his place, which meant only bad news for him: A deep conversation._

_“Mr. Mu-,”  
“Call me Sniper.”  
Medic looked a little discouraged to hear him say that. Could he be blamed? He simply didn’t want to go. “Mr. Sniper, you are acting like a petulant child vould.”  
He glared at the other, crossing his arms, but quickly letting them fall again at an attempt to not look like he had just been described as. He was not a kid. He was 28, for God’s sake! He could make his own decisions.  
“Vhat is so vrong vizh having a little fun once in a vhile?” The doctor looked quite curious, and maybe that was why Sniper actually answered.  
“I simply do no’ like stuff like this. Never have.”  
A few seconds of silence passed. “Vell… Spy and me have kept quiet for a vhile, since you are able to fight in a team. But you should be concerned about your private life, too, don’t you zhink?”  
“My “private life” does no’ concern ye.”  
The doc had another opinion, and kindly pointed it out: “Oh, but it does! I may heal you all in battle physically, zhough I also am responsible for your mental healzh. Vizh one zhing out of vhack, ze ozher vill suffer as vell. Not socialising or isolating oneself can be a sign of de-“  
“Spare me the statistics, Doc.”_

_He got up to leave, but a firm grip around his wrist prevented him from doing so. Sniper forced himself to look back, and he regretted having done so.  
The Medic, lo and behold, was now carrying his bone saw in hand, grinning at him evilly; though, when he smiled it was always evil.  
“Where did ya pull tha’ out from?”  
“Sniper, I advise you to go vizh our trusted friends tonight,” he was completely ignoring his question, “Or I vill have to make you. And trust me, you do not vant zhat.”_

And since Sniper was not in the slightest keen on finding out what the man would do, he had obliged.

And how he would hate his decision to have listened after all.

—

It was a calm Halloween night, just like every Halloween. As expected.  
Spy was smoking in the corner of the room, just letting his eyes scan the space thoroughly as if they were cameras. Ms. Pauling, Scout, Soldier and Heavy were playing once again this odd game that Sniper couldn’t find any interest paying attention to, which was why he had taken to laying on the couch instead, with a magazine in hand. The rifles displayed on the pages were nice to look at, all the craftsmanship that went into them, let alone all the designs.

Still, the mag was hardly the strongest captivating subject at hand. Well, it was the most interesting object he literally had at hand, knowing he wasn’t holding anything else. But just a few feet away there sat Scout, at a table with the other blokes, plus Ms. Pauling. And he was wearing a ridiculous-looking hotdog suit. Sniper couldn’t take his eyes off of it. It looked so… weird. Amusing, really. One would guess that the boy would try to seduce his crush with a costume less immature, but here he was. Unbelievable he was apparently more than 20 years of age. Sniper didn’t know how old exactly he was, never had bothered to ask. And he still didn’t bother. Though, he supposed he was a bit curious. He might ask about it later, when the two of them weren’t caught up with more interesting things to do. Because a magazine about rifles he had read five times already was interesting.

Yes. It was indeed another calm Halloween night, where nothing was happening, and cleaning his rifle was already a completed task. He could leave now, and go to his van to entertain himself without other people around him, but now that he was laying here on the cushions of the old sofa, he didn’t really feel like getting up to escape the dreadful situation that was “socialising”; which translated to him as “sitting alone and wishing to be somewhere else”. Spy was here, too. Meaning he would pass on the information of him having left way too early and alone as well. And Medic surely would not enjoy that, wherein Sniper wouldn’t be having much fun either. There was, of course, a certain amount of trust put into him. He was their doctor after all, both physically and - because of a lack of profession within their team - mentally. Still, the guy could be outright mad, and thus he was also to be feared in certain contexts and situations.

He did not understand this air of festivity, as little as the atmosphere held of Halloween. They were hired mercenaries, killers. And here their little RED team was, lazying away as if they didn’t have better things to do.

He looked back over to Scout again. Sniper was reminded of the man jogging around the base, and even closer where he had parked his van - which was always an annoyance. Hearing the little bugger jumping around all energetically. Not that Sniper wasn’t an early-bird rising with the sun. But he had heard Scout running past his van at fucking 5 o’clock in the morning on multiple occasions, and every bloody time he would get a heart attack, jumping off of his mattress with his kukri in hand to kill whoever was barging around so loudly outside. He needed to be a light sleeper and good listener in case of a Spy-attack. It didn’t matter if the battles were currently going on or not; the contracts did not mean anything, stating that killing off the other team and chasing the intelligence was only allowed for certain time periods set by the Administrator. A spy would never miss an opportunity to put an end to their enemy and pass it off as an accident. Meaning Sniper always slept with one eye open.  
The concerns he had about getting killed since he was out in his camper alone still did not sway him to go to his own assigned room within the secure brick walls.

Sniper placed the magazine on the little side table next to the couch and laid down completely, hands under his head to serve as some cushioning.  
“You do not seem to enjoy yourself much,” a voice behind him commented.  
“I told Medic already that I don’.. _fancy_ stuff like this.”  
“I understand ze need to be alone once in a while-,” the other started, and what he said made Sniper chuckle. That was an understatement; Spy was probably the most seclusive person in the base next to himself. Let alone Sniper wasn’t alone _all_ the time. He had his coyote-friends. But the others didn’t know. He was sure Spy didn’t even know. “-but isolating yourself isn’t healthy. You rely on ozers. Psychologically speaking, we are all social beings and-“  
“Could you shut it already?” Sniper snarled. He was getting really annoyed. And because he didn’t want to hear any more of this crap, he got up, grabbing his mag and rolling it up, and taking it with him to the table where the others sat.

Sniper took the empty chair between Soldier and Scout, taking a long look at the contents spilled over the whole table top. He had no idea what all of this was; the papers and the dice and pens. The books looked interesting enough though, with all the drawings in them.

“Hey, Sniper,” Miss Pauling was polite enough to greet him. He nodded back in a proper greeting - proper in his opinion anyways.  
“Why did ya come over here? It’s not really interesting right now. Soldier,” Scout had leaned over him as he focused his attention on their teammate, wearing his old robot-costume, “here is fuckin’ up the whole game again!”  
The man didn’t like to be talked to in that way and growled: “Are you trying to put the blame on me, maggot?!”  
Miss Pauling sighed audibly and got up to make her way to the kitchen. A drink didn’t sound too bad actually. And they had put some beer in the fridge upon arriving here so it would be cold later.

But just as Sniper was about to get off the chair to leave the two bickering at each other without him, a loud thunder was heard from outside the house and bright green light illuminated the room. It was bright enough for Sniper to put on his glasses, and he grabbed his kukri to face whatever threat was out there this time.

Soldier’s and Scout’s fighting had died down upon hearing the loud sound, and Miss Pauling was peeking out her head from the room over. Heavy looked less concerned, grabbing his Minigun from under the table and already walking towards the door.  
And Sniper walked after him. Only to be thrown back again by some invisible force.

Sniper was thrown back into the table, breaking the darn thing in two. The sound of the crash barely registered through the muffled sounds of gasping and shrieking; where they even muffled? He knew he didn’t weigh much, but the pressure had been strong enough to destroy the table anyway, and also managed to take his breath away. His back bloody hurt from the impact, a piercing pain running down his legs as if someone was stabbing him there and he feared he had managed to break some bones in his body.  
The world spun for a moment as he tried to lift his head off of the floor and everything seemed to be upside-down, when suddenly everything was back in focus while he got picked off the ground with a strong grip on his shoulders. Soldier was quick to bring him back up on his two feet. Colours and shapes were clear again, while his ears struggled to catch up with all that was happening. He could see some person entering through the doors they had busted open just a few seconds ago.  
Heavy had stepped away from the door, away from the person cloaked in a long black coat and a skull on their head… wait.

The ringing in his ears disappeared perfectly only for Soldier, who had been standing behind him, to yell into them once more: “Merasmus! What are you doing here?”  
Sniper suppressed the urge to knock the guy out. He was definitely in his personal space.

The wizard stepped into the living room, the single lightbulb overhead - now also shining green just like the clouds outside - revealing his wrinkled, old face. He looked furious, his eyes glowing and for some reason Sniper knew that whatever had the guy so mad was Soldier’s fault.

“ _You!_ ” He pointed at the man in question, who in return just smiled completely unaware of the tense atmosphere around them all.  
“Me?”  
“ _Yes, you! Soldier, you aren’t even my roommate anymore, so why do I find my cloaks all coloured_ ** _pink_** _in my washing machine?! How do you even manage to get them pink when they were black before?_ ”  
“Ha! I am an American. I can do anything I set my mind to. That’s what the American Dream is for!”

Scout, standing a couple feet away from him, was about to speak up, but Sniper held his hand before his mouth to prevent him from correcting the guy. Now was not the time.

“ _I have_ ** _had_** _it with your attitude, thinking you are the best and then somehow managing to actually do what you intend on doing!_ ” Sparks escaped his eyes, and on the finger he was pointing at his old roommate with, a dark cloud appeared, getting bigger and bigger rapidly.

Heavy, Miss Pauling and Spy had the sense to hide behind the furniture or walls, but Soldier just stood there like an idiot, so Sniper took to grabbing at his arm and pulling him away.  
The man was not pleased about himself just getting dragged somewhere, so he pulled his arm away and started screaming at him as if they weren’t currently being aimed at with.. whatever Merasmus was conjuring up.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, maggot?”  
“I am tryin’a save ye, mate!”

Sniper knew he should have hid away as well, but his teammate could sometimes just be so bloody foolish that he would forget himself, too.  
Thus he didn’t hear Scout yelling for him to get away, nor did he see the lightning bolt rushing out of the cloud and towards the two of them.

Everything was too dark, and all was quiet. That was all Sniper knew. He could barely see Soldier standing before him, if the man was even there anymore.  
And then the cloud of smoke dissolved slowly, leaving everyone in the room coughing for proper breath.

Miss Pauling and Spy ran over to them, seeing if they were okay. But as far as Sniper could judge, Soldier and him were fine. They both were standing, awake, and breathing.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” The woman was still worried.  
“I feel fine,” he answered, looking over where Merasmus was still standing. His eyes were normal again, and so were the clouds and the lightbulb over them.  
“Oh yes,” he started, clapping his hands together as if he was getting dirt off of them, “you are fine. But your friend won’t be. Because I cursed him!”  
Soldier’s head perked up. “What?!”  
“Indeed. Believe it or not, but your lucky streak has finally ended! The curse I put on you will make misfortune follow you everywhere you go! No more getting away from me when you start to mess with my things!” He let out a laugh, interrupted by his own dry throat that left him coughing.

“What? Excuse me, but could you just.. lift the spell again, please?” Miss Pauling asked, “he is a busy worker. Though around Christmas time he should be available to whatever shenanigans you have planned for him.”  
Merasmus grinned: “No way, lady. A spell this strong cannot simply be “lifted”. Not now anyway. I am quite tired - you have no idea how exhausting cursing people is. No imagining what would happen if the wrong person got cursed, too.” The last part was mumbled, but Sniper could hear it over the silence of the room.

The man disappeared out the doorway again, leaving the six of them staring after him like kicked puppies.  
Miss Pauling was the first to snap out of her trance: “Guys, we have to stop him! Come on-“ She was about to follow Merasmus, but Spy held her back by her arm. Scout also tried talking her out of that crazy plan.  
“C’mon, Miss Paulin’. That old fart never changes his mind about stuff like this. Let alone his spells are always weak. I’m sure the curse is goin’ ta wear off on it’s own!”

She didn’t look more assured, but didn’t follow the wizard anyway.  
“I suppose as long as this spell doesn’t interfere with your work there won’t be a problem,” she sighed, “not more than usual at least.”

“Nah, I am great. Whatever curse is set on me will simply be destroyed by my American immune system!” He stood proudly with his hands stemmed on his hips, convinced that what he said had made any sense. Scout was once more about to correct him, but Spy did the honour of keeping his mouth shut.

“Heavy want to go back. Evening is ruined, and Sasha got dirty.” Those were the first words the man had said this evening.  
Spy looked at his wristwatch. “I agree, we should go back. It’s late, and if the curse takes effect, I’d rather not be out here.”

The group agreed and already everyone walked off to gather their things. Sniper didn’t have anything laying around, and as far as he could see, the magazine was still in his back-pocket of his jeans. But his trusty kukri was missing. He looked around, and saw it laying near the broken table that Miss Pauling and Scout were already trying to put together again. What that would help, Sniper had no idea. They would need duct tape or glue for that. But anything to pretend that it wasn’t them who had broken the furniture.

He walked over to grab his weapon, but his foot caught on a table leg still laying around on the floor, and he stumbled on top of the just-fixed table, breaking it in two once more. And if that wasn’t enough, somebody who had just held onto the table landed on top of him, letting out an indignant yelp that definitely belonged to Scout.

“Bloody-,” he was about to curse some lines when he noticed the stares on his back. He pushed Scout off, who was pushing back in return. It must have looked real mature.

“What the hell, man? Watch where you’re goin’!”  
“I’ wasn’t fallin' on bloody purpose, ye-,” Sniper had quite a few things to say, but Spy and Heavy were quick to separate them.

“Gentlemen, may we, please, go?” Spy was right. Sniper just wanted to go back to his van and hide.  
Miss Pauling instructed for them to go back to the base and inform the others of the curse that had now befallen Soldier, and that they should be more careful around him from now on... or usual.  
So they quickly left, the table really beyond help at this point.


	2. A Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the first chapter a little, because I realised I forgot Sniper's van's layout real quick; like a big brain does sometimes.  
> Anyways, just ignore the little mistake, I have corrected it.

Sniper had known before that this "party" was not going to be fun. That it would turn out to be an outright disaster, he had not guessed.  
Soldier now was cursed, and since the man already was rather wild in his personality and roughhousing with others, who knew what was going to happen now?

The five of them, Miss Pauling had left already, now sat in the canteen and waited for the other four to arrive to break them the news that their friend had gotten into trouble with Merasmus again.  
Scout and him were sitting at a table, the boy sipping on a can of _Bonk!_. Spy and Heavy sat across from them, and Soldier had been banned to sit at the other end of the table away from them. He didn't look too affected by that. Not yet anyway.

Medic and the others soon arrived, and sat down as well, taking the empty seats between Soldier and them.

"Vhat is going on? You have sounded razher distressed when calling us here," Medic asked, obviously confused as to why there was going to be a little unofficial meeting at nearly 12 AM. Pyro and Engineer looked worried due to the tense atmosphere, whereas Soldier and Demo immediately started talking like nothing was going on.  
"What did ye guys do? Didn' drink all the booze already, did ye?"

Sniper wanted to get done here soon and get back to his van. He didn't like to think that their teammate was cursed. And that earlier at the house, when he had tripped.. that wasn't normal for him. He _never_ tripped. At least not catching himself before actually falling. It was a weird thing.  
His entire life he could slip on smooth surfaces, fall from high places and still manage to land on his feet or at least his hands.  
Like this one time when he had climbed onto a tall tree. He had been young, and a little more agile than he was now - he was still rather deft. He had climbed a branch too high and it broke, sending him to fall down several feet. But he had caught himself on some branches on the way down to break the fall, and had actually managed to get both his feet under him in time.  
Or this other time he had been on some platform in the middle of the lake. The wooden surface had been wet, and instead of falling on his ass, he had managed to get one arm under him.

Of course none of these experiences were proof for anything; but the fact that he just _didn't_ fall on his face remained. Until now. Was the misfortune over Soldier causing others to be unlucky as well?

Sniper had been in thoughts and not noticed Scout blurting out something at first.  
Whatever he had said was probably just about what had occurred today. His suspicions were confirmed when Spy interrupted the other: "Gentlemen, we may have a slight problem at hand." He was standing now.  
He pulled out a cigarette from his inner jacket pocket and lit it before continuing: "As Scout has just stated: We have been visited by Merasmus tonight, and - as ze man had put it - had cursed our Soldier to become quite.. unlucky. If zat is true, then we cannot yet tell wezer it will only affect him, or those around him az well."

Pyro, Engineer and Demo sat a little more away from their teammate. No wonder. Who knew if one of the grenades Soldier always carried around would suddenly go off? Sure, there was the respawn-system, but no one wanted to go through dying any more than was necessary. Could be quite traumatic, too, under the right circumstances. It went without saying that Sniper did not find it in the least traumatising to die. He relied on the respawn and it hadn't let him down yet.  
Medic remained where he was seated.  
"A curse? Oh please, Spy, you cannot be honest! Curses don't exist," the doctor stated nonchalantly. "Science, now zhat exists, and it is quite interesting, too! Bacteria, viruses, humans. So many test subjects-!" Medic was about to get all detailed with his ideas again, but he saw that now was not the time to fantasize about his hobbies.  
"Doc," Engineer spoke up carefully, "you are aware that.. There had been curses in the past, right? Affecting Demo's eye? Something that would _still_ be going on if you hadn't stopped giving him his eye back?"  
Demo set the bottle he had been drinking on down on the table top, miraculously not shattering the glass. " **Ye what?!** Ye could've given meh back my eye the whole time?"  
"Yes, but zhere had been some.. _unexplainable_ , but surely _scientific_ , consequences. But do not vorry! You vill not remember zhis question anytime soon. Brain scooping has its vay to vork."  
Demo looked as if he was going to reply something to this, but he just let out a dismissive "a'ight" and proceeded to take another gulp from his alcohol. Sniper could just stare in horror, and looking around Engineer, Spy and Scout bore the same expression as himself.

"Brain scoopin'? Tha's jus'- that is-," Engineer stammered, hearing what their doctor had done to one of their colleagues.  
Sniper looked over to Scout, raising an eyebrow. "Why are _you_ lookin' shocked, mate? Ya don' even know wha' brain scoopin' is."  
"Yeah, I do!"  
"Then tell me."  
"..."  
Scout huffed and turned away, mumbling: "Whatever." Sniper must have gotten him good if Scout was so embarrassed he was actually turning red from getting caught.

"Wezer or not Soldier now is cursed, we should all be a little more careful in case of any "scientific consequences"," Spy concluded to bring the nervous mumbling making its rounds to an end. Everyone agreed, even if Medic looked to be rather on the fence on all the "magic" and "curses" topics. Sniper would love to believe it was all a hoax as well, but only time would prove what was true and what was not.

* * *

The night had gone smoothly. As smoothly as it could with Sniper not getting any shut-eye, because for some reason his mind and body were trying to keep him awake and on high alert for something to happen. It wasn't even the worry about Soldier's current condition, he just had been oddly awake. The state in which one finds themselves in when dead-tired, but still unable to actually get rest.

To make this all short: His night had been hell and the minutes had gone by agonisingly slow. Getting coffee hadn't sounded appealing - he had honestly been too lazy. And by the time he had managed to motivate himself enough to get up it was already 5 AM. And then he had decided to just wait out the rest of the time until breakfast at 7.

And then the day, before it had really even started, went to shit.

Sniper's camper was shrouded in darkness at the time; barely anything could be seen through the thick shadows and the nonexistent rays of the sun, which had yet to rise. He usually was well with moving around under such conditions. If he didn't know the layout of his environment, then he was able to utilise his hands to touch and thus make out where everything was. Thing was, he knew the layout of his van. He knew where his stuff was, the ladder going down to the kitchen-area, the pile of dirty clothes he would need to wash soon and hang up to dry outside.

So why in the bloody hell did he stumble over that mentioned pile of laundry next to his bed?  
Sniper had set his feet down on the floor once having climbed off his bed, gotten up and stretched, before lifting his right foot to get into the scant area that was the makeshift kitchen. Only to get his leg caught in some abandoned pants laying around and thus stumbling. But wait, there's more! While falling, he managed to hit his face against the edge of the table.  
Mundy cursed under his breath, holding the pulsing, left side of his face as he laid on the floor. He groaned, feeling around himself with one hand to estimate where he was now. He felt the table leg further away from him, so he leaned on his knees to get up again. He was about to stand up again, but he let out another pained yelp when he hit the back of his head against the edge of the fucking table again!

" **Bloody-!** "

Why the hell was he so clumsy this morning? He was already miserable and breakfast hadn't even started yet.  
And the prospect of going anywhere near the others didn't sound the least appealing at the moment. But he supposed everyone had one of _those_ days once in a while.  
He shouldn't beat himself up for being clumsy once. It was dark after all, and he couldn't see.

So with that debacle dealt with - even if his head still bloody hurt - he got dressed in his clean uniform and threw the dirty one on the floor next to his bed. He would get to washing them today. But not now.

Today's battle would start at 9 AM. Then it would go the whole day until 5 PM; with the obligatory lunch break. Maybe he should get to washing his uniform now after all, since he had the time.  
He was changing his mind quite a lot. His thoughts were scattered, so no wonder would he also act that way! Soldier's misfortune could not possibly affect him from all the distance to the living quarters in their base to his van.

Sniper grabbed the laundry and bunched them up so he wouldn't drop them and was on his way to the base.  
He had suspected to not meet anyone on the way, let alone inside the room where they all were able to use the washing machines. And still, when he entered, there someone was, sitting on the dryer as it shook a little.

Scout smiled when he saw him and waved. "Mornin'!" He wasn't really up to talking to anyone at the moment, hence he also chose to wash his clothes at this ungodly hour. But his wish hadn't been granted. Surely one of _those_ days, indeed.  
"What're you up so earl- woah?! What the hell happened to ya, man? Did you lose a fight with Demo?"  
Sniper would have chosen to just ignore Scout. The boy could be irritating at best and with him feeling as he did right now, he could not use any of the energetic passion he held each day. But his reaction piqued his interest, so after he had thrown his laundry in the washer, adding detergent and turning it on, he turned to him and asked: "What?"  
"Dude, ya got beaten up, didn't ya? I won't tell anyone; who decked you one?" Scout - despite smiling and talking like he was excited to find out who had "beaten him up" - looked concerned. His blue eyes showed it, when the rest of his body wouldn't.  
"Mate, 'm sad to disappoint ye, but.. I didn' scuffle with Demo, or anyone fo' tha' matter."  
"Alright, ya don't wanna admit it, that's fine."  
"I really don' understand wha' you're talkin' about."

Scout huffed and jumped off the dryer and stood before him, and pointed at the right side of his own face.  
"You're sportin' a big bruise, Snipes. Riiight here," he rested his finger on his cheek. Sniper touched the spot shown to him, feeling that his left cheek was truly swollen. And touching it hurt a little, too.  
"Oh, yeah, I.. I tripped an' hit my head," he admitted, regretting his decision to tell the other the moment the words left his mouth. He was surely going to laugh at him.  
But he didn't. He was quiet, just looking up at him with this strange concern. And Mundy wished that Scout would start talking again - anything to end this awkward silence.

"Oh, man. With your trippin' around ya make me think that ya got cursed instead," he ultimately commented and went back to sit on the dryer.  
What Scout has said was probably supposed to be a lighthearted joke. And Sniper wanted to take it that way, too. But what if he wasn't wrong? What if _he_ had gotten cursed as well since he had been standing so close to their teammate?  
"Nah," he waved it off, "'m sure it's jus' a bad day. Everyone got'em."

And as if the universe wanted to prove him wrong, the washing machine next to him suddenly decided to open its lid and let the soap he had put in it soak both him and really everything else in its direct vicinity.  
"Aw, man!" Scout yelped and hid behind the dryer while Sniper tried to turn the damn thing off.

The loud sounds of the machine stopped, so Scout looked up from behind his hiding place.  
And now he laughed. Sure, he must have looked _hilarious_ with all this soapy water dripping off of him.  
"Hahaha! What luck you have, Snipes-.. Snipes?"

Sniper had a bad day. It was just a bloody, bad day. There was nothing to worry about. Everyone had one of those days. _Everyone had one of those days._  
And still, he felt like he was lying to himself. He had used this machine often enough to know how to use it; how to close the lid and how much detergent to put in it.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, but Sniper pushed it away. He was angry. Not at Scout, but who else could he blame?  
"Fuck off! Go laugh a' someone else," he yelled and started the machine up again before leaving the laundry room, still dripping off some water.

He hadn't wanted to yell at the man, didn't deserve to suffer the consequences for his own stupid actions.

The kitchen was still empty at this time, which was a goddamn blessing today. Sniper made himself a coffee with the old machine on the counter, when someone walked into the room again.  
He didn't turn around nor did he greet whoever had just entered, to show that he really was not there to be spoken to right now. But Scout, who must have walked after him, still walked up to him and poked his shoulder to get his attention.

"Snipes, ya don't look so good," he started, and it was not the right thing to say.  
The taller man huffed out a grumpy: "Oh, really? How did ye ge' tha' impression? From the bloody bruise on my face?!"  
Scout looked taken aback once more, but this time he snapped right back: "What the hell's up with you today?! You're being a real asshole!"  
"Too bad I don' care about that!" He argued. He had swung his arm around to strengthen how little he cared and that he just wanted to be left alone. But as his luck would have it today, he managed to knock over the cup still resting under the dispenser of the machine, and it shattered on the ground with a deafening sound.

Scout was quiet, he was, too. Both their gazes were directed at the broken ceramic and the dark puddle of coffee.  
The other was first to break the silence: "Snipes... are you-?"  
Sniper turned to him, gripping him by his arms tightly so he wouldn't leave once asking the question that might determine the rest of his life - or until he got back in contact with Merasmus: "Scout, tell me: Do ye think tha' I've been cursed, instead o' Soldier?"  
The boy just stared, before giving him a nonchalant shrug. "Dude, I dunno! Everyone's got a bad day. Ya said it yourself!"  
"Well, me stumblin' over my own two feet right after gettin' up doesn' make me feel any luckier."  
"Just that? I mean not _just_ , like, uh- the bruise? But what else bad happened to ya?"

Sniper had let go of Scout again after hearing his very clarifying answer and kneeled down to throw away the broken mug.  
"Well, yesterday? When Ms. Paulin' an' ye tried to fix the table."  
Scout thought about it, as if it had been weeks ago: "Oh yeah, that was awkward."  
He felt his face heat up in shame. "An then jus' now, with the bloody machine in the laundry room? Ye think tha' was coincidence?"  
Sniper wiped the coffee on the floor away with a couple paper towels.   
"To be honest, ya do have a point."  
And Sniper hated to be right about this. Presumably.

"Damnit, this is so bad." Sniper threw the shards away and wiped away the coffee spilled on the floor.  
"If you know the problem now, just go and ask Merasmus to help ya! I'm sure he'll undo this curse-spell-thingy." Scout said this with such enthusiasm, he nearly believed him. But unfortunately it wouldn't be so simple.  
"I don' even know where he lives. Or do you?" He threw the wet rag in the sink and leaned back against the counter, hands holding the edge with a loose grip.  
Scout smiled and lifted his index finger, and it made Sniper hope for the best-  
"No. I don't." He dropped the finger again, and that was a good decision, otherwise he would have broken it. Bloody- why would he give him this fucking hope?

Scout sat up on the counter next to him, legs dangling over. "Oh, c'mon, Snipes. You won't let yaself get down 'cause of some stupid curse, right? You got fight in that body of yours!"  
Sniper didn't know what to think of that "motivational" speech. Considering he was 100% sure that Scout didn't even know what he was talking about.  
"Hm.. fine. Let's just wait 'til he shows up again. An' no tellin' the others about this, y'hear?"  
"I heard!"  
"... Thanks."

* * *

The fight was going to start soon. In 30 seconds, in fact.

Sniper's heart was beating out of his chest. There were many possibilities how today's match could turn out wrong. And he didn't want to find out what they were.  
What if the respawn system got a hiccup and he actually died?

He shuddered lightly, gripping his rifle with a firmer clutch than before. Okay, simply do not get killed. Obvious solution. He had always been a problem-solving kind of guy.  
The start of the match was announced and Sniper quickly ran to an outpost he hadn't been to in a while.

Scout easily jogged next to him. He looked over for a second, and that was seemingly enough for the other to reveal his plans to him.  
"I'll try ta keep the path towards ya clear of any Blu's, 'kay?"  
"No, Scout. You do your own job, I'll do mine."  
"But- c'mon. Just this match! What if your theory's right? And what about the respawn system? What if-," Sniper decided to interrupt him right there: "I've thought about that already. Jus' go do yer own thing. I'll be fine."  
"Sure, whatever."

Why was he so concerned anyway? They were colleagues, not friends.

So they parted. Sniper soon reached his outpost and he climbed up the tower, pushing up the latch door and climbing in and closing it behind himself. There were a couple crates. Not too heavy, but weighing enough to put over the door and keep any backstabbing spies out.  
Once the door was blocked he positioned himself near the window, kneeling down and lifting his rifle.

Through his scope he had a perfect view of his companions and the enemies fighting each other.

Sniper didn't want to admit it to himself, but his kill-count had been low today. He had only shot when necessary, let alone missed when it was absolutely important - and he never missed a shot. Used to anyways.  
Despite what he had told Scout, he had been scared. Scared to die after all. He shouldn't be though. He had had a good run in life until now, so why bother dying during his job? He was very well aware of the danger of his job. The respawn system had made him too comfortable, was his guess.

So having the privilege of having a respawn, the backup-option besides just taking a bullet to the head and having one's life huffed out like a candle, made one reconsider thoughts of "simply accepting fate".

To keep this day short: Nothing exciting had happened to him. At one point he had been sure that someone had tried to get up into the tower, but with the presence of the crates, that task had been nigh impossible. He had felt like a rabbit trapped in a cage, waiting for their predator to bite through the metal bars and claim one more point for the other team. They had sounded like Scout, so Sniper just went with the idea of the enemy Spy having found him.

During lunch no one spoke up about him being missing or not pulling his weight.

Sniper walked back towards their side of the base, shoulders slouching. He didn't feel satisfied with his work at all. But it could have been worse. He could have killed one of his teammates, instead of merely missing. Sniper was convinced no one had seen his mild mishaps anyway.

" **Maggot! What was that on the field today? Explain yourself!** "

Alright, maybe Soldier had noticed.


End file.
